Chapter Six
The small, dark-haired Maia clenched his fingers together in a vain attempt to keep them from shaking. Mairon looked up as Námo entered the small clearing he was in. The Maia couldn't help but shiver as Námo knelt behind him, gently wrapping his left arm around him.
"Shh, child," Námo whispered, but gave no reassurance, reassurance Mairon knew he couldn't give. Still with utmost gentleness, Námo tilted Mairon's head back, rubbing his jaw in response to the Maia's whimper.
Mairon closed his eyes, fighting to ignore what was happening, fighting to believe that it was something else entirely—
Eyes flew open and lips parted as pain seared across Mairon's neck. His turned golden eyes met Námo's stern but regretful gaze, as the Vala slowly lowered the knife, watching as the golden light before him flickered and died.
Mairon was unaware that he had sat up screaming until arms wrapped around him from behind. Too close to what he had just experienced, he cried out again.
"Mairon! It was a dream. You are safe." With a shuddering sob, Mairon collapsed back into Námo's arms, feeling the Vala gently shift him into a more comfortable position, and Vairë's gentle fingers begin to comb through his hair. He had been sleeping tucked between the two Valar, something that had become routine for the three, even when the Valar did not sleep themselves.
"Shh, Mairon," Námo said gently. "It's alright." He gently tilted the Maia's face up to meet his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"I was sentenced to the Void," Mairon whispered hollowly. Námo's gaze grew compassionate.
"And I was the one who carried out that sentence?" Námo asked, somewhat rhetorically. Mairon nodded anyway.
"It didn't happen, Mairon," Námo said gently, but leaving no room for argument. "And it's not going to."
"Not even if I go bad again?" Mairon asked hesitantly.
"Is that something you are worried about, my little one?" Námo asked quietly.
"I thought I wasn't anymore," Mairon said miserably. Námo sighed.
"You're not going to 'go bad' as you put it," he said. "But even if you did, you would not be thrown into the Void. You would probably need to be locked up for the safety of others, but you will never have to be Melkor's slave again, my little one."
"But wouldn't I deserve it?" Mairon whispered, closing his eyes.
"No," Námo said firmly, power and finality radiating from that single word. "No, child, no one deserves to endure what you did." Mairon was silent for a time.
"Are my memories completely gone?" he asked, somewhat randomly. "The ones Morgoth took?"
"Not as far as I could tell, at least not all of them," Námo replied. "But I have not taken a very good look at the bindings on your mind. Both of the times I have touched your mind I have had other concerns, and you were too fragile for me to do anything about them."
"Oh," Mairon said. "Am I still too fragile?"
"Yes," Námo said.
"But I'll be able to get those memories back some day?" Mairon asked further.
"Most likely," Námo assured him.
"Good," Mairon said. "I miss them." He was silent again for a long time, before looking up at Námo and opening his mouth, only to shut it again and look down, biting his lip.
"What is it, Mairon?" Námo asked.
"Are you…are you going to get tired of me?" Mairon asked with extreme hesitation.
"What makes you think that, little one?" Námo replied.
"I'm just a broken wreck," Mairon said miserably. "I'm only a burden, I need almost constant care…and I'm not really worth much of anything," he finished in a whisper.
"That is not true, Mairon," Vairë said firmly.
"My lovely wife is quite right, Mairon," Námo said. "You are worth a great deal."
"I don't see how," Mairon whispered. "Right now, I can't really do anything."
"You don't have to, my little one," Námo said gently. He pulled the small Maia closer. "Mairon, your value is intrinsic. It is not based on what you can or cannot do. You have value simply because you are." He tilted Mairon's face up.
"And no, I'm not going to 'get tired of you'," he said. "You are mine, unless you decide you no longer want to be. Nothing will change that." Mairon gave a shuddering sigh and wrapped his arms around the Vala, burying his face in Námo's chest and closing his eyes.
"I love you, Mairon," Námo whispered gently.
"I love you too," Mairon replied. "'Msorry I'm scared all the time."
"It's alright," Námo said. "All I ask is that you'll let me begin to strip some of those fears away." Mairon nodded.
"And you'll love me?" Mairon asked.
"Do you believe that your brother loves you, no matter what?" Námo replied.
"Yes," Marion answered, confused.
"Mairon, you are now my child, and my love for you is as abiding as the rest of your family's." Mairon looked up and met Námo's eyes, a brilliant smile breaking across his face, erasing the last lingering shadows of the nightmare. Námo's own smile was gentle as he stroked a finger down Mairon's face.
"Sleep, child," he said. "Morning will come soon enough for all of us." Mairon nodded, and lay his head back down on Námo's chest, letting his eyes slide shut, the soft breathing of two Valar he knew cared for him lulling him to sleep.
The next morning found Námo, Vairë, and Mairon curled in various chairs in a comfortable sitting room. Outsiders might view Mandos as cold and gloomy, but Námo and Vairë's personal quarters, as well as those of the Maiar who served them, were anything but, filled with thick rugs, warm blankets, and rich tapestries. Námo and Vairë were talking softly, and Mairon was staring at the fire, letting his thoughts drift where they would. A knock sounded at the door, and Istamírë entered, looking like she was carefully controlling irritation.
"My lord, my apologies, but Fëanor is demanding to see you." The unspoken 'again' was highly evident. Námo raised an eyebrow.
"Does he have anything new to say?" he asked dryly.
"I highly doubt it, but I couldn't say," Istamírë said, matching her lord's tone. "It is Fëanor we are talking about. For all I know, he is bored, and wants to resume learning Valarin."
"I suppose I should go see what he wants now," Námo said, rising gracefully. He looked at Mairon and paused, not wanting the Maia to be left alone.
"Why doesn't Mairon come with me?" Vairë suggested. "I have been wanting to get to know him better, anyway. What do you say, Mairon? Would you like to spend the day with me?" Mairon looked up and smiled, nodding. He stood and walked over to the Valië, who took his hand.
"Then that sounds like a perfect solution," Námo said, smiling at the sight of his wife and the newest of his Maiar. He left, Istamírë following, and Vairë and Mairon departed for the Valië's workshop, a part of the Halls of Mandos Mairon had never been.
Mairon's first impression was of light. Large skylights let in an impressive amount of light, and were angled, Mairon noted, to have utilized the light from the Trees in the fullest. The first room seemed to be a workshop. Various looms and other things Mairon had no name for were being repaired, designed, and tested. Some of the Maiar working there served Yavanna.
Vairë continued down a hallway, and Mairon followed. A cross hall seemed to lead to a library, as Mairon caught a glimpse of rows upon rows of books as he walked past. Finally, they came to a large, circular room, with alcoves large and small scattered off it that seemed to be smaller workrooms, with plenty of cushions, and various equipment for fabric crafts. The ceiling of the main room was a transparent dome, providing a magnificent view of the sky. Most of Vairë's Maiar could be found here: some in groups chatting together in the alcoves, with others working the large looms where the tapestries depicting the history of Arda were created.
Mairon was confused. The large frames were arraignment in a circle around the main floor, which was not the most economical use of the space, but something seemed different about this room… Vairë smiled knowingly at him.
"Walk out between the looms, and you will understand," she advised. Mairon did as directed, and as he passed between two of the looms, he stopped, his mouth falling open. The Song that had created and sustained Arda could clearly be heard here. He could see what was occurring in Valinor, Middle-earth, and beyond. The more deeply the event affected the Song, the harder it was to ignore. Mairon could also still see past events that had changed the flow of the Song.
"So this is how you do it," Mairon commented to Vairë, who walked up beside him.
"Yes, this is how," Vairë said. "If you listen closely, you can even hear echoes of the Song that created Eä here. It is why Mandos is built where it is." Mairon nodded, eyes wide.
"It truly is remarkable," the Maia to their left commented, leaving off her work. "Before we found this place, the Song was far less well recorded."
"That is true, Nyárë," Vairë responded, smiling at her chief Maia. "Still, we did an excellent job with the resources we had."
"We did indeed, my lady," Nyárë replied. She turned her attention to Mairon, who was now a few steps away, looking around at all the different looms.
"Is Mairon joining us today?" she asked calmly. Vairë nodded.
"My husband has to deal with yet another complaint of Fëanor's," Vairë said dryly.
"So my sister will probably be here later, frustrated and wanting to vent?" Nyárë asked rhetorically, raising an eyebrow. Vairë laughed.
"Probably," she said. "Istamírë was already rather irritated when I saw her last." Nyárë nodded.
"Would you like me to take Mairon so you may work?" she asked, changing the subject. "I would be happy to teach him whatever strikes his interest."
"Thank you, Nyárë," Vairë said, "I would greatly appreciate it. Mairon!" she called the younger Maia back over. Mairon responded with alacrity.
"Mairon, why don't you go with Nyárë? She can teach you a little bit more about what those who serve me do," Vairë suggested.
"Alright," Mairon said, glancing somewhat shyly at Nyárë, who smiled at him.
"All the alcoves are equipped for various fabric crafts," Nyárë explained, leading Mairon over to a medium-sized one already occupied by a few Maiar, as Vairë took over the large tapestry Nyárë had been working on. "Have you ever been interested by any of them?"
"To tell you the truth, I've never really thought about it," Mairon confessed sheepishly. "Not other than wanting things to look nice." Nyárë laughed.
"Well, what we do is why things look nice," she said as they reached the alcove. A Maia with bright brown eyes looked up as they entered. Mairon stared with fascination at the embroidery she held in her hands.
"Do you mind if I watch?" he asked her shyly.
"Not at all!" the Maia replied cheerfully. "Pull up a cushion."
"Qunetalë is one of of our best embroiderers," Nyárë commented, taking a seat herself and pulling out a small hand loom. Qunetalë blushed.
"I simply enjoy it, so I spend a lot of time doing it," she explained. "Here, do you want to try?" She quickly set Mairon up with the necessary supplies and demonstrated a few basic stitches, which Mairon attempted to duplicate.
"That was good," Qunetalë said. "Just try to make them smaller."
"Oh," Mairon said, starting to remove them.
"No, don't pull them out!" Qunetalë said. "Just keep going."
"But they're not right," Mairon protested.
"That's alright, you're just learning," Qunetalë encouraged. Mairon continued to practice under Qunetalë's patient guidance until Istamírë came in and flopped down next to her younger sister. At that he broke off, startled.
"Why does Fëanor have to be so difficult?" Istamírë demanded, somewhat rhetorically.
"You shouldn't let him get to you, sister," Nyárë said calmly, setting her loom to the side.
"Almaron says the same thing," Istamírë grumbled.
"Your husband is right, as am I," Nyárë said. "When you become exasperated, you are letting Fëanor win."
"I know, I know," Istamírë sighed. "Not that you ever get upset about anything." Nyárë shrugged.
"The Song shall flow according to Atar's will, and I shall record it as it does, for thus was I created," she replied.
"You have never wanted to shape the Song?" Mairon asked despite himself. Nyárë shrugged.
"No," she replied simply. Mairon looked down at his hands, not truly seeing them, as he tried to fathom her attitude. He still hadn't managed it when Námo entered, and he focused his attention on his lord.
"Learning to embroider, my little one?" Námo asked, coming to sit beside Mairon.
"Sort of," Mairon replied doubtfully, looking at the sampler he held. Qunetalë laughed.
"You have to be patient, Mairon," she said. "If you practiced, you could become proficient."
"I think I will leave that to you, and simply have a greater appreciation of how much work goes into my clothes," Mairon said, carefully laying the sampler aside. He leaned into Námo, who wrapped an arm around him, and yawned. Qunetalë, seeing that, began to hum softly. The other Maiar joined in, and quickly Mairon was asleep.
"You look very content," Vairë said to Námo as she walked in. Námo smiled.
"I have two of my children with me, and three of yours. And now, you have joined us as well. What is there not to be content with?" he replied. Vairë laughed softly, as not to wake Mairon, and settled into Námo's free side.
"My lord, forgive me...but is Mairon alright?" Qunetalë asked hesitantly. Námo looked down at the sleeping Maia and smoothed a hand over his dark hair.
"He is better than he was, but no, he is not healed yet," Námo said quietly. "And there are some who would see him further hurt."
"What do you mean?" Qunetalë asked with a frown.
"We hear rumors," Námo answered. "There are those among the Maiar who are not pleased by Mairon's return to Valinor. They will try to hurt him, that much I know, but I cannot see who they are, for that lies in their free will."
"What can we do?" Qunetalë asked with a frown. Námo smiled gently at her.
"He will need friends who will stand by him and remind him that there are many who yet care for him. He will need friendship to face the challenges that will come his way."
"He has mine," Qunetalë said fiercely.
"And mine," Nyárë said calmly. "He is an endearing child."
"And I've already said, whoever messes with him—I don't care who it is—is going to wish they had never even thought of it if I get hold of them," Istamírë muttered from where she lay. Námo smiled at them.
"With the friends he has, both new and old, I do not think he will be lacking in aid for the challenges that lie ahead," said the Vala. "Not in the least."
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